


VII

by CharcoalTeeth



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Fix-It of Sorts, Past Sexual Assault, Season Rewrite, Slow Burn, Why was Faith only in 5 episodes though, the slowest of slow burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharcoalTeeth/pseuds/CharcoalTeeth
Summary: This is a complete rework/reimagining of Season 7.The story will more or less follow the same structure episode by episode. However, a lot of the content will be from 'between episodes', i.e. what happens off camera.Timelines have been altered, certain events have been omitted or changed, some character storylines are completely different, some are largely the same.This is purely my interpretation of how I might've liked the season to play out, rather than how it did on screen.
Relationships: Faith Lehane/Buffy Summers
Comments: 43
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Good evening! I am once again back on my bullshit! 
> 
> This fic is a bit of a love-hate project for me. Partially due to its size, (I've never written so many words) and partially due to the fact that Season 7 was love-hate for me, in itself. 
> 
> I appreciate this will fic will not be everyone's cup of tea, as I've used a hell of a lot of creative licence here. Fuffy fans might like it. Spuffy fans...probably not. (I'm not a Spike-hater! I actually love him, and wanted to give him a genuine chance for redemption in this story.) 
> 
> It's still a WIP, and as such I'll be posting as and when I can. 
> 
> Kind words are always welcome, but if you really don't like something I've done, please don't be too critical. It's taking a lot to get this out into the open. 
> 
> Ever-grateful to Aliceinwonderbra for her sage opinions and pseudobeta skills. 
> 
> Thanks!! to everyone apart from Joss Whedon. Go away, bully-man, the Buffyverse belongs to everyone EXCEPT you now.

Buffy Summers has never felt so earth-shatteringly tired. Logically, she knows that’s not actually true; of course she has been more exhausted than this in the past. She’d faced worse hardships than today and felt much more drained, after her mother’s death, or after her own resurrection, even after Willow tried to end the world half a year ago. But tonight in particular, she feels like she just wants to crawl into her bed and sleep for a month. Maybe two. 

This morning, she’d woken up tense, wary and battle-ready for her sister’s first day at the brand new Sunnydale High. _Maybe that was it,_ she thinks to herself, as she trudges back home from the cemetery, _Sunnydale High tortured me for three years…not surprising its grand re-opening put me through the ringer…_ She’d tried to fake a sliver of optimism for Dawn’s sake, but her sister had seen right through that, of course. The cell phone had been a great idea. It was long-overdue, Dawn was more than old enough to have her own phone. Buffy had figured it would come in handy at some point, and was not at all surprised when Dawn phoned for emergency help not three hours after she’d opened the box. 

_Vengeful, murderous spirits. No big deal._ Buffy muses as she drags her heels, lazily brushing a patch of vampire dust from the sleeve of her brown leather jacket. She’d staked a fledgling blood-sucker fresh from its grave twenty minutes before. She must have missed that particular patch of dust in the aftermath. More likely she just hadn’t cared enough to check herself over properly after the kill. 

She rounds the corner onto Revello Drive, thoughts tied up back at the high school. _Hadn’t bargained on encountering a dashing, charismatic new Principal. Or a job offer…_ She is far too tired to give this the proper consideration it needs right now. But maybe jumping at that life-altering proposition from a perfect stranger wasn’t her wisest move. She has absolutely zero experience of counselling, and has given no thought to how the job might affect her Slaying duties. _Shh, shh, we’ll deal with that tomorrow, brain._ She glances up and down the quiet street before crossing the road.

No, the one curveball today had thrown her, well and truly knocking her for six was the unexpected appearance of her ex in the school basement. The last time she’d seen Spike, he’d attempted to rape her. After she fought him off, he’d come to his senses and fled, clearly horrified with himself. She’d not had a word from him since. Buffy realises her hands have involuntarily balled into tight fists. But anger isn’t the first immediate feeling which fills her as she recalls that evening. It’s definitely in there, for sure. No, the overwhelming sensation she can place amongst the swirling mass of emotions is more akin to _nausea._ A bitter, betrayed sense of _sickness_. Of all the evils she has faced throughout her life, Spike’s attack feels like the worst. 

She tries to unclench her jaw and relax as she approaches the house, breathing deeply. As well as her reaction at seeing Spike, her mind is racing full of questions, like _what the hell was he doing there in the first place? Why was he rambling to himself?_ Buffy hadn’t smelt any booze on him - amongst the rich plethora of odours surrounding the vampire, his trademark whiskey wasn’t in the mix. So she couldn’t comfortably write his behaviour off as drunken nonsense. _How long has he been down there?_ Most troubling to her of all, is her worry… _is he ok?_ Catching this thought, she shuns it out of her mind. _I don’t care if he’s ok. He’s dead to me. I don’t care. I don’t._ She finds the house key in her zipped jacket pocket, annoyed at herself as her fingers fumble the small piece of metal and it clinks onto the doorstep. Retrieving it, Buffy sighs. She resolves to leave these thoughts of Spike outside, and once she’s through the door she double-locks it closed behind her. 

Safely in the house, Buffy feels herself instantly begin to relax. Knowing now that Spike is back in town, she feels vindicated about the decision she made for her and Dawn to perform a de-invitation spell on their home the day after his attack. At the time, she had felt so divided about whether it was the right thing to do. Finally, what got her to see it through and complete the spell was her pressing her finger through her jeans into the bruises he left on her thigh. They were already fading, of course, but it still hurt. She needed to remember the hurt. Dawn’s Latin pronunciation had been surprisingly clear through the smoke of burning herbs cloying up the air. Now, knowing the house was secure from any further surprise visits from Spike certainly felt like a welcome comfort. 

A large table lamp throws soft light into the otherwise gloomy hallway. Dawn must have left that on for Buffy, realising she’d be out late patrolling. Buffy smiles, as she reads a hand-written note on the table next to the lamp. 

**_Pizza in fridge! No anchovies on ur half, ur WELCOME!!!!!!_ **

(Underneath, a doodle of a small fish with a sad face in the middle of a red “prohibited” circle sign.)

Note in her hand, Buffy heads straight for the fridge. Glancing at the kitchen clock, she sucks air through her teeth; she hadn’t realised it was nearly two in the morning. She’d needed to get out and patrol, to let off some steam and try and beat her frustrations of the day out on some vampires. She hadn’t meant to be out quite this late, though. She’d found and dusted four vamps in total, the time flew by like it was nothing. A familiar guilt creeps in about her lack of availability for Dawn tonight. She places the note on the counter, then begins scoffing the cold pizza straight from the box. 

Maybe some stability from Buffy working a desk job might help Dawn; a nine-to-five would force Buffy to actually develop a normal sleep routine. No more regular late-night Slaying. But then, could she, in all good conscience, detract from her Slaying duties for an easier home life? Chewing a large mouthful, she furrows her brow as she considers it. She’d never allowed herself to do it before, why should she get to start now? _Because now, you’re all Dawn has._

_Mom, Dad, Giles, Willow, Tara, Anya, Spike. All people who Dawn relied upon, in one way or another over the years. All gone._ _That’s what’s different._ Buffy bins the pizza box, pours herself a glass of water and heads up to her bedroom. Her heart feels heavy again, fatigue pressing in against all sides of her, from inside her chest as well. She needs to step up as Dawn’s guardian, because now the list of people willing or available to help has dwindled down to just Xander. Anya was in town, sometimes, but since she’d started working again as a vengeance demon, she’d kept herself very scarce.

She tiptoes towards Dawn’s closed door, Slayer hearing quickly picking up her trademark snoring. Satisfied, Buffy relaxes her tread a little as she moves away down the hall. She knows that once Dawn’s fast asleep, a hurricane could blow through the house and she likely wouldn’t even stir. In her own room, Buffy slowly slips out of her dusty outer clothes, now really noticing the bumps and bruises from tonight’s Slaying activities. _Nothing to write home about, but_ ouch, _that one’s a doozie…_ she assesses her damage, looking over her shoulder in the mirror at a wide purple bruise across her lower back. A particularly wily vamp had managed to slam her full-bodied across a tombstone, just before she paid it back with a good staking. She winces as she gently twists her back. Some bruised vertebrae, maybe, but nothing broken. 

She loosely buttons up an oversized cotton plaid shirt to sleep in, to avoid pulling a top on over her shoulders. Melting gratefully under the covers, she’s barely able to stifle a groan of pleasure as her body finally relaxes. For a delicious moment, the Slayer’s mind is wonderfully blank, as she focuses only on the sensation of soft sheets across her skin and her weary bones settling onto the mattress. A brief, microsecond of peace. Then, once her body has settled, her brain kicks in again, even as sleep starts filling her eyelids with lead. Trying her best to drift off, her thoughts still whirr, _what is Principal Wood really up to? Is Xander doing the school run tomorrow or am I? How am I supposed to decide what to do now?….Why is Spike back?_

——————————————————————

Not many hours later, Buffy shuffles, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen, sporting some grey sweatpants, a black baggy sweater and her favourite baby-blue fluffy slippers. She shoves more coffee into the pot than is probably sensible, and leans heavily against the counter as it brews. It’s very early; the light streaming through the window is pale and weak, as though the sky is still blinking itself awake. Buffy’s been seeing more and more of this weird time of the day recently, and coupled with last night’s late stress-relief Slaying, she can count the hours of solid sleep she’s had on one hand. The advantage of being awake before most other people, though, is that she gets to enjoy this stillness, the calm of a world pre-defined, pre-disturbed, full of serenity and potential. She feels herself staring off into the middle distance, and doesn’t fight it. She zones out, almost blissfully, until she realises she’s staring at the exact spot where Warren shot her. 

She blinks, hastily turning away from the window. She used to think of this house as her sanctuary, but these days it’s harder for her to feel that way. In every room, she is reminded of some awful event, or of the absence of a person she once loved. _Maybe we should move…_ though that thought is immediately squashed as soon as it bubbles up. No way she, nor Dawn, could voluntarily leave their mother’s house. For all its chaos and bitter memories, this house is the last link they have to her. _Not that the family finances are in any shape to even make relocation a possibility,_ she muses.

Buffy is grateful for the coffee hissing its readiness, and as usual she almost takes the skin off the roof of her mouth because she can’t wait for her drink to cool before she takes her first sip. She sets the mug down in order to scoot herself into her favourite sitting spot in the kitchen: cross-legged on the countertop. She only winces a little as she hops up there, last night’s injury across her spine already healing nicely. She retrieves the hot mug and holds its warmth to herself, as she stares back out the window and watches the colours gradually being restored to the world.

Eventually, the tranquility is broken by the almighty thundering of footsteps on the stairs, announcing with no uncertainty that Dawn is up, dressed, and on her way. 

“Mornin’! Ooh, is there still coffee?” she breezes into the room. Buffy smiles, handing her a clean mug from the drainer. Dawn pours half a mug of black coffee, then busies herself in one of the cupboards looking for the sugar Buffy has purposefully hidden. Triumphant, she stirs in three heaped teaspoons into the mug as Buffy looks on, shaking her head.

“Want some coffee with that sugar?” Buffy drawls, unimpressed. 

“Whatever. Just cos you drink it all bitter - like you!” Dawn fires back playfully, then begins pouring herself an enormous bowlful of cereal. “Did you eat already?” she asks pointedly, looking enquiringly at Buffy. 

“I’m fine, I’ll grab something later.” Buffy hedges, not really in the mood to get into it with Dawn. 

“Ok, but someone once told me you should eat breakfast at least three times a day, so, make sure you get something, please?” 

“Your concern is noted - I’m _fine,_ ok? Just didn’t sleep so good, is all.”

Dawn chews her cereal, observing Buffy with a thoughtful look. Or, as pensive as one can appear with their mouth full of Chocohoopies. “Late night Slayage again?” 

“Yeah. Plus…when I did get in, I had this dream…It was weird. Can’t remember all of it, but it wasn’t exactly calming.” 

Buffy couldn’t exactly recall the details of the dream she’d experienced in the few hours of sleep she had. She knew she’d been running, and that she was afraid. There were flashes of streetlights, as though she was sprinting through a vast network of interlinking dark alleyways. It certainly hadn’t struck her as any location she was familiar with. Then, nothing. Her memories didn’t extend any further, but she knows the dream was the reason she’d woken up this early, and the reason she hadn’t wanted to risk going back to sleep. 

“Hmm. You should start a diary. Not that I keep one these days, I’m not that much of a loser anymore. But Janice said her mom’s therapist told _her_ to keep a dream diary, and Janice took a peek at it one time, and she said it was full of the weirde -” Buffy tunes Dawn’s gossip out, nodding politely at the right moments, trying to look interested. She helps Dawn potter around the house getting ready for school, and when Xander arrives in his sharp suit and shiny car to give her a lift, Buffy waves them both off with a smile. As soon as the door closes behind them, she returns gratefully to the quiet, leaning against the front door, allowing herself a moment to become part of the stillness in the house. Moment passed, she rallies herself on to making her way upstairs to get ready for her day. 

One hand stretched out on the bannister, she pauses at the bottom of the stairs, despite herself. She fights the urge to turn her head to the left, to glance over at the sofa. Whenever she goes through this part of the house, she is filled with the irrational compulsion to look for her mother where she saw her last. As much as Buffy resists, that impulse is always there, every time she walks past the living room doors. She doesn’t know which emotion is stronger - the childish desire to see Joyce again, or the fear that one day, if Buffy _does_ look, she will see her lying there.

——————————————————————

After she’s showered and dressed, Buffy receives a call from Principal Wood, where she formally accepts the job and they discuss the particulars of her shiny new role as school guidance counselor. He seems oddly cool and receptive in response to Buffy’s vague, babbling request for flexible hours, as well as her reiterating that she has absolutely _no_ training or qualifications making her suitable for the role. She doesn’t check the gift horse's teeth too closely though, and as soon as she’s off the phone with Wood she calls up her manager at Doublemeat Palace to give her resignation. She really does try her best not to sound _too_ gleeful, but she’s not all that concerned about whether her manager notices. She agrees to work a final shift the following day, but after that, Buffy is giddy at the prospect of getting to hand in her apron and god awful hat for good. 

Feeling decidedly chipper and in the mood to celebrate, Buffy skips downstairs to the kitchen to grab her phone, then texts Xander: 

_Tonight! Come over for dinner, I’m cooking! No more DMP for us :) :) :)_

She goes to put her phone down on the counter, then picks it up again to send a follow-up: 

_Be here @6pm, bring wine!!!_

Having sent the message, she realises she should probably consider what she will be cooking for dinner. Buffy knows she’s not exactly chef-extraordinaire, but the one thing she can make is a fairly respectable rendition of Joyce’s classic lasagne. It’s Dawn’s favourite, even though both Summers girls know that Buffy’s version isn’t really a patch on their mother’s. Buffy checks through the cupboards and the fridge, quickly coming to the conclusion that priority one must be to hit the grocery store. She scribbles a hasty list, just as her phone chimes with Xander’s affirmative reply. 

By the time Dawn arrives home from school, Buffy is enjoying the distinct and rare feeling of a good mood. She’s in the kitchen, chopping onions, dancing to 80s radio when she hears Dawn’s keys clunk onto the hallway table. 

“Hey! Come join the party!” Buffy calls over Blondie’s _Heart of Glass_. Dawn looks enquiringly at her sister, a smile on her face as she moves to lean against the counter. Buffy clatters the knife down on the worktop, moving to take Dawn’s hands and pull her into an impromptu dance in the middle of the kitchen. 

“What’s this? Did you get into the liquor again?” Dawn giggles, allowing herself to be swayed to the beat of the music. 

“Hmmm, not yet, maybe later though!” Buffy chirps back, twirling Dawn so she spins around. “You, dear sister, are looking at the newest faculty member of your brand new school!” 

Dawn stops dancing, her eyes widening. “Umm, what are you talking about?” she asks.

“I’m the new guidance counselor at Sunnydale High!” Buffy exclaims, “Which means I’ll be around to keep an eye on things, so if demon-y, Hellmouth-y shenanigans pop up, I got your back.” 

Dawn’s face is a little more crestfallen than Buffy would like. “You mean…you’re gonna be there? Like, _all_ the time?” 

Buffy sticks her bottom lip out a little in a pout, “Well, yeah… I thought you might be happy about that… _and,_ no more Greasy Stinky Burger Buffy, that’s a plus?” 

Dawn tilts her head to one side, “I’m happy for you, sure.” Then she slings her arms around Buffy’s neck and pulls her into a brief hug. “Hey, I’m proud of you. I’m on board. Just, ya know, don’t talk to me in the halls?” 

Buffy grins, swaying them both again to the music. “Don’t worry, you’re good. I won’t even make eye contact with you. If anyone asks, I’ll deny all knowledge of you. Dawn who?” 

Buffy continues cooking, and when Xander arrives, he pulls her into a huge bearhug when she tells him her news. “Wait, does that mean I don’t get free burgers anymore?” he asks with a worried expression. “I take back my support, Buff, this is a huge mistake!” She throws a mock punch at his shoulder, which he then uses as an excuse to act like he’s mortally wounded. 

The rest of the evening is spent chatting about Buffy’s new job, as well as Xander and Buffy laughing and reminiscing about the more bizarre events from their time at the old High School. By the time the lasagne is eaten and the wine is drunk, it’s well past Dawn’s bedtime, and Buffy’s a little too tipsy to go out patrolling. She figures she’s earned a night off, seeing how late she was out the previous evening. Plus, she can’t actually remember the last evening she _didn’t_ go out Slaying. After Xander bids them both goodnight, and Dawn has helped clear up the plates, Buffy can already feel her bed calling her. The wine might have helped. She settles in to sleep, feeling calm for the first time in a long while. 

——————————————————————

_From beneath you,_

_It devours_

Buffy sits bolts upright, fight-ready and looking around wildly for the screaming girl she’d seen slaughtered in her dream just moments before. Her eyes only register Dawn, leaning over her, looking concerned. Recognising that she’s in her bedroom, Buffy starts to come back to reality from her nightmare. She’s clammy, drenched in a cold sweat; her bedsheets kicked off to the floor.

“I…I heard screaming?” 

Dawn smiles gently, “That would be you.” 

Buffy shakes her head, still confused and sleep-addled, “There was a girl…” 

“That would be me,” 

“No, Dawn,” Buffy sits up further and swings her legs out of bed. Walking over to the window, she knows Dawn’s eyes are still on her. “This isn’t the first dream I’ve had like this. Last night, it was the same…” she trails off, wracking her brains to try and remember her dream of running through dark, unfamiliar streets from the previous night. “…no, it wasn’t the same. It was, me, I was running.” 

She turns back to see Dawn sitting on her bed, watching her, waiting patiently for her to continue. “Last night was like _I_ was the one running, being chased. Tonight, I could see it happening to someone else. A girl.” Buffy shivers involuntarily as she recalls the fear in the girl’s eyes once she was captured. “They killed her…stabbed her…she’s dead.” 

“Do you think these are Slayer dreams? Warnings, maybe?” Dawn asks quietly.

“I’m betting yes.” Buffy says flatly, “But how am I supposed to help someone if they’re already dead?”

Dawn furrows her brow, rubbing fingers over her tired eyes before continuing, “Did you recognise anything? The girl, the location, the killer?”

“ _Killers._ Plural.” Buffy blurts out, very sure of this fact. “There was more than one of them chasing her.” Lowering her eyes to the floor, she adds softly, “She didn’t stand a chance.” 

Realising she hasn’t answered Dawn’s questions, Buffy frowns, “I - I need to think, to try and remember everything.” She quickly moves to her desk, shoving nicknacks out of the way to grab a pad and pen from her desk. “She said something, after she died -”

Dawn raises her eyebrows, “She said it _after_ she was dead? Yikes…”

Buffy waves her hand to shush her, desperately trying to wrack her brains and recall the dream which was already fading fast from her consciousness. She begins to write, “‘From beneath you…it devours’… That’s what she said. Or _something_ said it, through her.” She also writes down the words _chase, streets, running, girl, scared, big knife_ and then finally, almost like her hand moves of its own accord, _brown robes._ A feeling of dread familiarity flashes in her stomach, but when Buffy tries to point her mind towards that thought directly, it feels further away from her understanding. 

She sets down the pen, blinks, then sighs deeply, running a hand through her messy hair. She turns back to Dawn. “I’m sorry you woke up to screaming. Not exactly relaxing birdsong.”

Dawn yawns hugely, rubbing her eyes again. “It’s no biggie. Alarm goes off in a half hour anyway. I’m totally getting first dibs in the shower though, you owe me that at least!” she jokes. 

Buffy remains at her desk, the distant sound of the shower running fading into the background as white noise. “What am I missing here?” she whispers to herself. Her tired eyes keep reading over the words she’s scribbled down, coming back again and again to that ominous phrase. Whilst the dream details might be fading, Buffy can’t forget the deep, otherworldly voice and the dead girl’s blank eyes staring right at her. 

——————————————————————

Roughly five thousand miles away, in the middle of the afternoon, Willow is lying awkwardly on wet grass where she fell just moments earlier. Her breathing comes hard and fast, her brow beads with sweat. Involuntarily she grabs and pushes at Giles as he attempts to steady her, murmuring attempts at calming platitudes. Although there’s no hint of anything unusual in the picturesque, sunny landscape in front of her, Willow’s eyes are fixed on a point in the middle distance, her mouth twisting at horrors only she can see.

“Willow, breathe, calm, just breathe…” Giles repeats, “What is it? What do you see?” He’s crouched on his haunches, his hands gently holding Willow’s arms as he tries to help her.

“Oh god, Giles, I…” Finally beginning to right herself as the vision begins to pass, Willow places her hands on the damp ground in front of her. But as soon as her skin makes contact, she jerks her palms away, images from her vision scorching themselves freshly inside her eyes. She swallows hard, focussing her breathing to centre herself. “It’s all connected…I saw the Earth, Giles…I saw its _teeth_ …” She tries to recall the details without drawing herself back down into the darkness she just witnessed. 

“The Hellmouth?” Giles asks, a concerned frown on his face. 

Willow nods, fighting the sensation of room-spin and terror still lingering. “It’s gonna open, Giles. I saw something…it must be the Hellmouth itself, under the school? This _enormous_ cavern, completely filled with this swirling darkness, thousands - no, hundreds of thousands of swarming bodies…all evil….all bubbling ready to rise up…” Willow falters in her description, realising hot tears are spilling from her eyes. She tentatively places a hand back on the ground, grateful only to find the sensation of cool, wet turf. She shifts her weight, sitting up, loosely cross-legged. She doesn’t care that her trousers are becoming soaked, she doesn’t feel ready to stand up yet. 

Part of her recovery whilst working with the Coven here in England is accepting the enormous power inside her as deep-seated, inescapable now, after what she did. The power is part of her, there was no changing that. But, she was learning new ways of using that power to connect with the planet; to observe and heal, rather than using magic to shove reality around to her will. Willow had found such incredible mentorship with the witches in the Coven, and in another life she would have loved to stay there forever, learning all she could from them. 

But, she knows that luxury is not an option for her. She has responsibilities to this world, atonements to make, wrongs to right. She has work to do. 

“We gotta call Buffy, Giles. We gotta…you gotta warn her, something’s coming. Something bad.” 

Giles tilts his head slightly, then stands up, sighing. “Maybe it’s time you spoke to her yourself?” 

Willow grimaces. “I…I’m not ready, I’m sorry.” She can’t bear to look Giles in the eye, but knows that he’s only trying to be encouraging. “But I really think Buffy needs to know this, like, _now._ I don’t know exactly what it means yet, but it feels important.” She glances up to find Giles with the hint of a soft smile on his fact. He offers her a hand, which she takes, hauling herself up to standing. 

“I fear you may be right. I’ll call her today. I think first we should speak with Althenea and Ms Harkness, see if they’ve picked up anything. Maybe they can shed some more light on what it was you saw.” He turns towards the house, holding out the crook of his elbow to Willow.

Still feeling slightly sea-sick, Willow links her arm through Giles’s. As much as she usually relishes the opportunity to work with the Coven’s powerful seers, the prospect of delving deeper into what she just envisioned fills her with terror. Being surrounded by ultimate evil, supreme darkness; it was all still too close to home for Willow.


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy’s final shift at the salubrious Doublemeat Palace came and went unceremoniously. The place had such a high turnover of staff that an employee’s last day wasn’t remotely a big deal. She said goodbye to her colleague Dave, (who barely looked up from the fryer), thanked her manager, handed in her uniform and left. As the door swings shut behind her, the afternoon sun on her face, she feels oddly pensive about leaving the place behind. Sure, the work was monotonous and messy, the people could be rude and odd (customers and staff alike), but when Buffy had needed money, the DMP had been there. 

During what was, arguably, the lowest point in her life, the restaurant had been a constant, and had reminded her she was more than capable of knuckling down and working hard. It had shown her she had other skills beside Slaying. Walking home, Buffy thinks again how outrageous it is that the Watcher’s Council pays wages to dozens, if not hundreds of people _surrounding_ the Slayer, but had never offered Buffy a dime for her troubles. _Sacred duty, blah blah blah. How are Slayers supposed to dedicate their lives to fighting evil if they’re having to work split shifts to pay bills?_

She kicks aside an empty can as she walks, mentally scolding herself for going down that avenue of thought. She’d been there before, and it never achieved anything other than making her angry. The Council were still an entity, somewhere across the Atlantic, although what they were actually _doing_ to justify their continued existence as an organisation, Buffy couldn’t fathom. 

She had planned on going straight home, but as she approaches a four-way junction, she makes a snap decision, surprising herself. She walks with purpose, knowing Sunnydale High is only a couple of blocks away. The sky is beginning to bruise with the onset of evening, but there are still plenty of people around. Classes ended not long ago, so faculty members and students continue to meander around the campus. Nobody gives Buffy a second look as she makes her way through the polished corridors, following her memory to the plain door set back away from the classrooms, marked _Basement, No Student Access._ After a quick check to make sure she’s not being watched, Buffy slips through the unlocked door into a dark stairwell.

Feeling her pulse quicken, Buffy snakes a hand into her shoulder bag, wanting to feel the stake she has stashed in there. She _knows_ it’s there, but she needs to feel the reassurance in her hand. She walks slowly forward, the only sound is the softly clicking of her shoes on the floor. Automatic lights follow her progress and flicker on as she tracks along hallways, giving Buffy the distinct impression the basement itself is watching her. 

She hones her instincts and walks steadily towards the vampire she can sense nearby. She stops in front of a metal door, gathering herself. _He’s definitely in there. S_ he has no doubt that he can sense her too, she has no wish to surprise him. She wants him to know she’s there; that she’s come down here of her own accord; that she is not afraid. 

After a beat, she places her hand on the door and pulls it open. Fluorescent bars along the ceiling cast a harsh glare and throw deep shadows behind the dusty, forgotten objects strewn around the room. She walks slowly, purposefully, her eyes checking every dark corner and alcove. Finally, she sees him, crouched behind some metal barrels. His eyes gleam through the darkness, wet and terrified. She’d prepared herself for some level of weirdness, remembering the state he was in last time she saw him, but she hadn’t expected him to look quite this pathetic. Her ears pick up his rhythmical whisper, agitated and jagged,

“…four-one-five, four-one-six, four-one-seven, four-one-eight, four-one-nine…” 

Buffy gets a little closer to him, and is able to see he’s on his haunches, his arms bent at the elbow, wrapped around the top of his head. When her eyes land on his, he’s wide-eyed and petrified. The instant she makes eye-contact with him, he screws his eyes shut, counting faster, rocking back and forth slightly on his heels. 

“Spike?” 

“…four-two-oh, four-two-one, four-two-two, four-two-three…”

Buffy crouches down to his level. His clothes and skin are absolutely filthy, his hair matted and unkempt. She doesn’t want to feel the concern she’s feeling. She doesn’t want to notice how gaunt he is, or wonder when the last time he left this place was. Her hand starts to move out towards him, instinctively, before she stops herself. _No. Enough._ She sets her mouth in a line. 

“Spike. What are you doing?” She hears the cold edge in her voice, and is glad of it. 

Spike keeps his eyes screwed up, his mouth twisting into a grimace as he continues to recite his counting. He shakes his head quickly, like if he counts hard enough, Buffy will go away. 

“…four-two-four, four-two-five, four-two-six…” 

“ _Hey.”_ Buffy raises her voice slightly. His eyes fly open, he stops rocking, and stares at her for a few long seconds. 

“…Buffy?” His voice is scratchy and weak.

She nods, before his intense gaze makes her uncomfortable and she stands up. The movement startles Spike, and he scuttles even further up against the barrels he’s crouched behind. Buffy rolls her eyes, exasperated, as he hides his face behind his hands and begins counting again, louder now. 

Buffy decides enough is enough. “Ok, I don’t know what number you’re aiming for here, but I don’t have a lot of time.” She crosses her arms, looking down at him. “I need to ask you a question, Spike.”

He stops counting, looking at her through his fingers. She takes that as assent, and continues. 

“Have you heard anything strange, recently? Anything demon-y, any otherworldly goings on down here?” 

Spike’s brow furrows briefly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Finally, his arms relax down from around his head and he manages, “Y… _you_ were here…the ghosts…the little pigeon…” 

“Yeah, the other day. And, you were right, there was a talisman. Those spirits are gone now.”

Spike nods, then draws himself up to standing, before saying in a perfectly calm, smooth voice, “Dawn doing ok? Can’t have been much fun for her and the other kids. Hope she wasn’t too scared.” 

This sudden change in demeanour spooks Buffy more than his crazy-guy act. Spike huddled up on the floor crying doesn’t feel like much of a threat. Any other version of Spike, she is nowhere near certain about. 

“She’s safe. Have you seen anything? Heard anything _else_?” 

Spike stares at her for a second, then chuckles, which Buffy finds deeply unnerving. _Everything about this is wrong._ She feels her muscles tensing up, defensive, coiled and ready.

“Oh, Slayer, the things I’ve seen, things I’ve heard…” He rolls his head in slow circles, as though stretching out his neck.

“ _Spike._ Do you have anything _useful_ to tell me?” 

At her harsh tone, something in the vampire breaks. He cringes, arms curling in towards himself, making a horrible moaning sound as he crouches down again and shuffles back into his hiding place. Once he’s stopped moving, Buffy hears him mumble,

“Have to…I have to start over now…can’t be out of sequence…gotta start again…one, two, three, four, five…” 

Buffy sighs, “Great.” She stands, turns, walking towards the door. “You know, Spike, you can’t stay here. The school’s open now, sooner or later somebody’s gonna notice a crazy vampire in the basem-” She glances back over her shoulder, to find Spike standing _right_ behind her. 

Reflexes taking over, her fist lashes out a hard punch across his jaw, sending him reeling back a few steps. The stake is out of her bag and in her hand in an instant. He keeps his distance, one hand over his newly-split lip. His other hand is raised in a gesture of surrender.

“No…didn’t mean… I wasn’t… he wasn’t doing _that…_ ” He stammers, not meeting her eyes. “…We wanted to say something…we have to be _quiet_ down here…” 

Buffy doesn’t lower her stake. “Say what you need to say from over there.” she growls through gritted teeth, hating the tremble in her voice. 

Spike keeps his gaze at her shoes, like he daren’t meet her eyes. He breathes deeply, concentrating very hard on speaking slowly and clearly. “There are _bad things_ down here. Things that talk. Things that rumble. Things that laugh and _hurt_. Things…sharpening teeth. Things stirring.” Buffy notices his hands are shaking. She watches a tear fall down his dirty cheek before he scrubs it away like an ashamed child. He turns and scuttles away back behind his barrels, then hisses out in a loud whisper, “If I keep counting, maybe I can fall asleep…” 

Out of sight, Buffy hears him start up his counting again, and she takes the opportunity to slowly back up, before a hasty retreat through the metal door. As soon as it’s closed, she breaks into a sprint, running faster than the automatic lights can keep up with her down the hallways, up the stairs, out of the school and into the warm evening. Her heart thunders in her chest, her lungs scream for air, shoes pounding against the sidewalk. She runs and she runs, and doesn’t stop until she has her back pressed against the inside of her front door, her whole body shaking. 

She slides down to the floor and sits, head in her hands, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. Barely a minute passes before the house phone rings. Buffy lets it blare to itself for a few seconds before she wearily gets to her feet and picks up the receiver. She manages to utter a fairly stable-sounding “Hello?” 

“ _Ah, you’re home, excellent.”_

She breathes a sigh of relief at Giles’ familiar voice. Although then her brain kicks in and she realises he doesn’t sound like he’s calling for a casual catch-up. 

“Yep, just got in. You ok? Wait, isn’t it, like, stupid o’clock over there right now?” She glances up at her watch and tries to do math, giving up very quickly. 

_“Indeed, it’s gone midnight. I’m afraid, well, this wasn’t information I wanted to sit on.”_

Buffy nods, pursing her lips. “Something’s happening, isn’t it?”

_“We think so. Willow had a vision, and the Coven here has just confirmed some of what she saw…”_

“Wait, _Willow_ had a vision? Wow…” Buffy tries not to sound too awe-struck. She knows her friend’s powers and capabilities are far greater than anything Buffy can fathom. Even knowing the damage she caused, Buffy still finds herself impressed at just how strong Willow now is. Wary, but still impressed.

_“Buffy, she saw the Hellmouth. She said she saw its teeth…”_

Buffy’s eyes widen, as she remembers Spike’s hushed warning in the basement: “... _things sharpening teeth”._ Whether it’s being the Slayer or just getting older and more cynical, Buffy Summers does not believe in coincidences. 

“So, something’s a-brewing.” 

_“The Coven have focussed their energies on taking a read of Sunnydale, a measurement of magical activity over there. They certainly seem to think there’s, well, a convergence of some kind happening. Or, due to happen very soon. Have you noticed anything odd recently?”_

“Oh yeah, plenty of oddnesess. And, I’ve been having these dreams - what with Will’s vision and, well, some other stuff, I’d say there’s a good chance they’re Slay-related.” 

Buffy can picture Giles’s face as she hears him shuffling papers around. _“Slayer dreams, you say? Can you tell me about them?”_

She relays everything about her dreams from the previous two evenings, pausing for Giles to write her points down. 

_“‘From beneath you, it devours.’ Well, that sounds charming.”_

“Not so much, right? Think that might help the Coven any?” 

_“I’ll certainly relay it back to them. I’ll have a look through my books as well, see if anything crops up. I can have a look and see if there are any unusual reports of murdered young women which match what you’ve described. In the meantime, stay alert, all of you. Please watch your backs.”_

“I miss you too, Giles. Ooh hey, I got a new job!” 

_“Oh, really? That’s excellent news, what is it?”_

“….if you can believe it, at Sunnydale High. I’ll be the new school counselor as of Monday.” 

_“….guidance counselor? Good lord.”_

Buffy clicks her tongue, “Which, now, I’m thinking, is another coincidence stacking up. This all has Hellmouth written all over it. I knew that Principal was too hot not to be evil!” 

_“Ah, sorry?”_

“Nothing! At least if I’m there, I can protect Dawn. If that Hellmouth is going to start acting up, I wanna be there.” 

_“Well, be careful. I’ll check in again when I know more. Please send Dawn and Xander my love.”_

“No problem. And Giles…can you tell Will I say hi?” 

It’s the first time Buffy’s asked Giles to pass a message on to Willow directly. Before now, she’s only asked for updates on Willow’s progress from Giles. Knowing how fragile and fraught Willow’s path to recovery would be, when they’d first gone to England, Giles had warned Buffy and Xander to keep away - to give Willow some time to regain control of herself. That was six months ago. Now Willow’s having visions of an active Hellmouth, Buffy feels it’s the right time to reach out and make contact, even if it’s still through Giles. Besides, when she thinks about how far away her best friend is, Buffy’s heart aches.

——————————————————————

In Wesley’s apartment, Faith wakes up with a start. Her heart is still racing from the vivid dream which invaded her nap, but she instantly begins to calm herself down, realising where she is. She takes a second to relax; waking up on anything other than a prison cot is a whole new blessing. Wesley had given her his bed for a few hours so she could recover from her fight with the Beast and Angelus, even though she had wanted to go out again straight after her punch-up with the shower. Wesley had reminded her that she hadn’t slept since prison, and that she needed to take a few hours rest if she had any hope of taking on Angelus. Although she hated to admit it at the time, she knew he was right. Several hours sleep on a decent bed had done her the world of good, body and mind alike. She slowly moves each limb a little to check herself over, pleased to find full range of movement, indicating no permanent damage. She lets out a soft exhale, feeling her left arm still sore and swollen as she lifts her hand to her face. Her skin has lost some of its tenderness, the splits on her lips and eyebrow now closed.

Satisfied that her Slayer healing is doing its job, Faith carefully scoots under the sheets to work her way out of bed, then pads barefoot across the floorboards to a full length mirror on the wall. She hasn’t had the opportunity to properly see herself for quite some time, prisons not being keen on fitting large glass objects anywhere near their inhabitants. Wesley lent her an old, pale grey shirt to sleep in, which she slips off, leaving her standing nude. The primary reason for her doing this is to check the healing progress of the significant cuts and bruises marring her body, but also she’s curious to see what she looks like now. 

The woman staring back at her looks older than she remembers, thinner in some places and fuller in others. Prison had left Faith with sub-par nutrition and nothing but time. She would either be languishing, sitting or lying still for hours on end; or making the most of every second of yard time, working out harder than she’s ever done before, pushing her muscles beyond their limits, desperate to keep her strength. Despite her new injuries, she can feel the potential energy coursing through her physique. She feels strong, possibly more so than she’s ever felt before.

She stands, staring at herself for a minute or so, neither particularly pleased nor disappointed with what she sees. Maybe the old Faith would be thinking about taking this body back out for a ride with the first available hottie she could find. But _this_ version of Faith, whoever she is, has a job to do. She shrugs the shirt back on, then slings on her jeans. _The Beast is toast…now I just gotta get Angel back._

She heads for the kitchen, hearing Wesley moving about making coffee. He looks up as she approaches, the two nod awkwardly at each other by way of greeting. Faith doesn’t think she’ll ever truly be able to be comfortable around Wesley, and judging by his demeanour, she reckons the feeling’s mutual. She can’t allow herself to think too much about her history with him, nobody has the time for that. She is needed to capture Angelus, that’s the only reason she’s out of jail, her temporary freedom is required for the greater good. She hasn’t earned it. _I don’t get to ask for forgiveness, not after what I’ve done. I don’t get to ask for anything. Not from Wes, not from…anyone._

Shoving all of this out of her mind, she gratefully accepts the mug of hot coffee Wesley offers her.

“Your wounds look much better.” he states cooly, looking over her face. 

She squirms under the scrutiny, “Yeah, good ol’ Slayer constitution for ya.” 

He nods, looking away with a slight smile. “Slayer healing never fails to amaze me. I haven’t seen it in action for quite some time.” 

Faith sips her coffee, savouring the full flavours and aromas. “Ah man, I’d forgotten what _actual_ coffee was like. Not the lukewarm dishwater we had in the joint.” She holds the mug under her nose and closes her eyes, relishing the delicious-smelling steam. 

She opens her eyes to see Wesley watching her. “Did you sleep alright?” he asks politely. 

“Passed out pretty much as soon as my head hit the pillow. I had really, really wacky dreams, though. Thanks for the loan of the bed.” 

Wesley furrows his brow, “Wacky dreams?” 

“Yeah, and not the fun kind.” She sinks onto the sofa, trying to remember the stand-out points. “It was like I was real high up, watching this chick running scared through an empty shopping mall. Least, I think it was a mall,” She leans forward, takes a sip of coffee, then places the mug down. She shakes out her hair, pushing her thoughts further. “There were these dudes chasing her. When they caught up to her, it was like I was right there in the middle of ‘em.” Faith pauses, “They stabbed her, over and over. After, they turned round, their faces were all fucked up - their eyes all cut out and scarred.” She sits back, “Then I woke up, I guess. Don’t remember anything after that.” 

Wesley takes all this in for a moment. “Have you had dreams like this before?” 

“A couple of times, yeah. But I figured, violent dreams - probably something to do with being locked up with hundreds of violent people.”

Wesley lifts his eyebrows, “You could well be right. I’d imagine it will take you some time to, well, adjust, to life outside prison.” 

Faith sets her jaw, “Not looking to adjust, Wes. Don’t wanna get too used to the finer things,” she says in a matter-of-fact, flat tone. “I get why you busted me out. Angelus needs taking down, and you couldn’t exactly call up the _actual_ Slayer for this one. So you subbed in the spare.” 

Wesley looks at the ground, before taking a breath in to respond. She cuts him off before he can start, keeping her tone lighthearted.

“Honestly, it’s cool. I bag Angelus, then you guys can do your mojo or whatever, bring Angel back.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “Then I check myself back into prison, all compliant and apologetic.” She pushes a smile onto her face, ignoring the nausea in her gut when she thinks about being locked up again. “Maybe Angel can bring me a ‘thank you’ bouquet sometime. Not that they’ll probably let me have visitors. After that break-out, I reckon I’ll be in solitary ’til the end of time…” She holds her mug, running a thumbnail absently up and down the handle. 

Wesley shakes his head, “Your prison record has been exemplary up until now. With the fact you’ll be handing yourself in voluntarily, there’s no reason to assume -”

She waves a hand casually, trying to appear more nonchalant than she feels. “S’fine. Not like I had a bunch of friends in gen-pop that’ll miss me anyway.” Faith finishes her coffee, ignoring how it scalds her mouth, then stands, very keen to change the subject. She stretches out her limbs, feeling the shirt ride up, exposing her taut, scarred stomach. She’s not worried about whether Wesley sees or not. _One good thing about prison; you become a lot less self-conscious about scars, and nudity in general._

“So _anyway_ , thank you for the decent coffee, is all I’m saying. After a nap ruined by dreams about no-eyed murderers, I needed it.” 

Wesley looks back at her, seemingly recognising her desire to move the conversation on. “You’re welcome. We should check back in at the hotel soon.”

Faith nods, then strides back into the bedroom to dress. “Right on. Give me ten.” 

_Whatever Angelus has got, I got more._ She knows she has to do this right; failure is not an option. She _will_ bring Angel back safely. _I owe the guy that much, after all the hurt I caused him, his friends…and Buffy. I owe her too._ It’s the first time she’s really thought about Buffy since she left prison, and she ignores the little familiar lurch in her stomach that picturing her brings. 

Faith pulls on the clothes Wesley picked up for her, happy enough with the tight fit of the dark jeans and the black tank top. The oversized blue overalls of prison had their desired effect on all the inmates - turning the wearer featureless, powerless; a nobody amongst a mass of nobodies. But now, as she pulls on a black denim jacket, she feels like she’s back in her armour. Faith allows herself the briefest of grins with a final glance at the mirror. _Nothing wrong with enjoying it while I can…_

She sweeps out of the room to grab a shoulder bag full of weapons from Wesley, before they both head back to the Hyperion. 

—————————————————————— 

Buffy drops a tumbler into the sink, where it shatters into several large pieces. “Shit!” she exclaims loudly, before steadying her hands against the countertop, leaning heavily on her arms. Water continues to run freely from the tap for a few seconds, before she comes to her senses and shuts it off.

“You doin’ ok in there? Glassware can be tricky.” Dawn saunters into the kitchen in her pyjamas, grabbing two clean glasses down from a cupboard. Hearing no response from her sister, Dawn walks closer, asking gently, “Hey, are you alright?” 

Buffy realises she needs to say something, but she can’t. Her gaze is fixed on the wet shards in the sink and before she knows it, her eyes are filling with tears. She feels Dawn lay a hand on her arm, then she turns away from the sink into Dawn’s arms, crying. 

For a good minute or so, they stand there, Buffy sobbing against Dawn’s shoulder, Dawn holding her gently, stroking her hair and making soft shushing noises. Buffy’s head feels so full of thoughts it might burst, but at the same time she can’t pinpoint anything specific to try and make sense out of it. 

After a little while, Dawn speaks, “I can’t believe Spike had the nerve to come here. It’s no wonder you’re feeling like this.” 

Earlier that evening, he had turned up, out of the blue, clean, dressed, seemingly lucid. At least he’d had the decency to knock at the door, rather than barge in, uninvited. (Not that he would’ve been able to get in anyway, after the spell Buffy and Dawn did on the house months ago.) Still, Buffy had answered the door with a stake in her hand, and he’d kept his distance. He’d been offering to help find the “big brewing evil”, which had confused everyone. But once they’d located Anya’s latest vengeance spell victim, he’d ended up making everything so much worse.

Buffy feels her eyes burning under fresh tears, but she’s getting control of her breathing now. Eventually, she pulls back from Dawn slowly, then rubs her face roughly with the palms of her hands. “Ugh, I’m sorry, Dawn,” she manages, starting to feel foolish for her outburst. “I leaked all over your shirt.” 

Dawn smiles kindly. “Yep, you’re super gross, as always.” she jokes. She carefully picks up the shards of glass from the sink and puts them in the garbage, waiting patiently for Buffy to continue talking. 

Buffy looks at her shoes, still muddy from the graveyard she ran through to get home. She hasn’t even taken her jacket off after getting in. She hates how much Spike spun her head this evening. She lets out a big shuddering sigh, her breathing just about returning to normal, then begins to tell Dawn about what transpired after she went to find Spike.

“…He was out of his mind, again. Like in the school. After he stabbed the worm demon - Ronnie, whatever - I needed him to explain himself. I’d had enough of his bullshit.” She pauses, “I went there thinking I’d probably need to kill him. I was ready to.” 

Dawn listens as Buffy recounts the story. Once she gets to the part where Spike reveals he got his soul restored, Dawn’s eyes go wide.

“So, he’s been away this whole time getting his soul back? That’s why he’s all crazy now?” she asks

Buffy nods, briefly raising an eyebrow. “It certainly would explain it, yeah. I guess maybe visions of his past victims, memories, existential stuff, mixed with several lifetimes of guilt…that’ll make anyone nuts. Angel wouldn’t ever really talk to me about it.” 

Dawn considers this for a moment, before crossing her arms across her chest. “So he feels guilty? Good. Not like it changes anything he _did_.” She practically growls this last word, and Buffy remembers what she’d overheard Dawn say to Spike earlier before they went to find the demon: threatening to set him on fire in his sleep. At the time, Buffy had felt maybe she should admonish Dawn in some way for her violent words…but really, she had every right to feel defensive. Truth be told, Buffy was proud of her sister’s fierceness, her courage.

Right now though, the implications of Spike’s soul-having felt too huge and complicated. “No, it doesn’t change the past, Dawn. But, it means something for the future. I just _really_ don’t know what.” 

All of a sudden, Buffy feels overwhelmingly tired again. Her emotional outpouring helped release some of the tension she was carrying earlier, and now all she can think about is crawling into bed. As if reading her thoughts, Dawn yawns, then fills up both two fresh water glasses from the tap. 

“How about you try and get some sleep? It’s almost tomorrow already.” 

“Good plan. Hey, how come you were still up anyway? School tomorrow?” 

Dawn shakes her head, “Remember Saturdays? You don’t work in the service industry anymore, you get to enjoy weekends now!” 

Buffy smiles, as they both head upstairs. 

Later, Buffy finds herself lying in bed, completely world-weary but unable to sleep. All she wants is to be unconscious, to have some fucking peace.

_He got his soul back._

Buffy stares at the ceiling, thoughts whirring. Spike revealed that he’d gone to the other side of the planet, to some cursed place, put himself through hellish tests; all to win back his human soul. _For me. He did it for me._ Buffy grits her jaw angrily, remembering his speech about “a man doing what he must, for her”. _Like I asked him to do_ any _of that. Like if he went off and suffered that’d fix everything, like I’d welcome him back with open arms._

The more she ruminates on this, the more her haze of emotions begins to dissipate and gather into solid conclusions. Buffy knows, with perfect clarity, that any romantic relationship she had with Spike ended on the day he attacked her. 

She realises that there’s a big part of her that’s sad about that. Their time together had been chaotic, unhealthy and unsustainable, yes. But also, there had been good times. There were occasions where Spike made her feel things nobody else ever had. He had shown that he could be kind, sweet, and at times, infinitely more empathetic than her closest friends. So maybe, Buffy can allow herself to mourn the loss of that relationship, in her own private way. 

_But he is never, ever, touching me like that again._

Perhaps celibacy really is the best option for a Slayer after all. 

At some point she must have dropped off to sleep, because sometime later, she finds herself bolting awake in an instant, her pulse pounding in her ears. Straight away she kicks off her covers, almost falling out of bed as she scrambles over to her desk. She grabs the pad and pen, desperately scribbling down what she remembers from this latest dream before the images and sounds fade away.

She doesn’t even bother to look at what time it is, noticing vaguely that it’s still dark outside and the house is still. Her senses completely fired up, she picks up the pad and runs downstairs to the phone, where Giles’s number is on a sticky-note affixed to the wall. Her fingers jab hurriedly at the keypad. She listens to the dual ring of Giles’s UK landline, tapping her foot animatedly as she waits. “Come on _, come on.”_ she murmurs, knowing it’s useless. Finally, the line clicks as Giles picks up the phone.

“Hello?” 

“Giles. I had another dream."

“Buffy, right, what can you remember?”

Buffy breathes in deeply,“Another girl, being chased, then stabbed to death. But I know who’s murdering them. This time I saw their faces.” She reads her own words on the notepad: _No eyes_ _, brown robes, big knives. “_ They’re Bringers, Giles. We’re dealing with The First. It’s back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am hoping to update this weekly, which should be do-able for the moment. But as anyone knows who's written fic...progress isn't always a straight line!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, several buckets of hot thank-juice to Aliceinwonderbra for her continued advice and patience :)

Willow sits squished up in her window seat, trying desperately to keep her mind centred and calm. Her first few hours on her own no longer in the safety of Giles’s supervision, and she’s already finding herself tested by the real world. She’s nearly three hours into her transatlantic flight on the way back to Sunnydale, and there’s an overtired five-year old wriggling around in his seat next to her. The child’s mother was apologetic to Willow initially, claiming little Ryan was so used to flying and normally wasn’t this badly behaved. But now, the mother leans her head on her arm, headphones shoved into her ears, eyes fixed on her magazine, completely ignoring her small child acting up. 

The kid is bouncing up and down in his seat, kicking out his legs in front of him, slamming the seat table with a series of plastic objects. Willow tried chatting to him earlier and was met with stubborn silence, so she leaves him be. She fixes her eyes out the window, trying to enjoy the spectacular view over the clouds. In the old days, she wouldn’t have thought twice about doing a harmless spell to send the child to sleep for the duration of the flight. Now, (even though the peace would be nice) she feels ashamed at how little regard she had for other people’s right to exist without being targeted by her magic. Tara understood it, and had tried desperately to impress upon Willow that she had lost all her perspective on the issue. _And she was right,_ Willow thinks, _Tara was so much wiser about magic than I’ll ever be._ Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Picturing Tara’s soft eyes and crooked smile brings familiar feelings of love and grief, then a bubble of self-hatred and shame in the pit of her stomach. Willow tries to suppress this, remembering Ms Harkness’s advice; those feelings serve nobody. Also, left unchecked, those feelings can spiral. _No spiralling, please, no thank you._ She squeezes her fingers together, staring out into the endless sky.

As much as she might like to just turn tail and run on the first back to England as soon as she lands, she knows she can’t do that. Giles sent her back to Sunnydale with important information for Buffy, now she knows The First and its creepy Harbingers are back. The Coven had focussed their energies on finding out what they could about what had been happening, and had made some pretty horrifying discoveries. No way Willow could ditch and run, knowing what she knows. 

But Willow couldn’t shake the anxiety she feels about seeing her friends again. She’d been honest with Giles about it, and as ever he’d been sage and rational. “ _You may not be wanted, but you will be needed.”_ Willow can barely allow herself to hope that one day her friends might want to be around her again. Right now, all she can think about is how massively unready she feels to see the people she loves so dearly. The people whose lives she nearly ended. As she speeds further through the skies towards California, she worries that her friends will never be able to see her as anything other than a murderer.

—————————————————————— 

The following day, Willow sits cross legged on Buffy’s bed, her friend opposite her, mirroring her pose. Their hands are joined, their eyes closed. The surge of energy Willow feels through their linked hands is incredible, unlike anything she’s ever experienced before. She’d spent the last hour on her own trying to speed up her healing process, repairing the damage that Gnarl had done to her stomach. Growing new skin was straightforward, but exhausting and time consuming. With Buffy sharing some of her energy, however, it was like Willow had connected herself to a brand new battery. She can _feel_ her cells multiplying, her wounds beginning to knit themselves closed far faster than before. After a little time, though, she becomes concerned. She opens her eyes to check on Buffy.

“Hey, you ok? I don’t want to, you know, take too much…” Willow feels herself grimace as she remembers what it was like to leech power and life force from another human. 

Buffy opens her eyes, regarding Willow for a second before smiling softly. “It’s fine, Will. Stop worrying.” she glances down at their hands “It’s kinda, strange, I guess. I can feel you like, _pulling_ from me. But it’s not hurting me, maybe ‘cos I’m not resisting it. It doesn’t feel like you’re _taking,_ more like I’m _giving._ ” She looks up again at Willow, “I’m probably explaining that all wrong - I never really understood all the magic stuff.” 

Willow smiles, Buffy’s words comforting her. _If she trusts me enough to let me borrow her strength like this, she must not be thinking I’ll kill her and turn evil right now…_ “No actually, that sounds about right. I think you’re understanding it perfectly.” 

They sit together a little while longer, going back into their meditative trances, before Willow realises the wounds on her abdomen are no longer sore. She opens her eyes, then gently releases Buffy’s hands. Buffy opens her eyes, gazing questioningly at Willow.

Willow smiles, lifting her shirt a few inches, amazed at seeing the progress Buffy’s borrowed power has had on her healing. What had been sickeningly large gouges were now pinkish stripes; brand new skin, shiny and soft. The strips Gnarl had torn away and eaten had left Willow with deep open wounds, well past the subcutaneous fat. Now, as she runs her fingers tentatively across the area, it barely even hurts. She peeks back up at Buffy, whose eyes are wide.

“You did that?” she asks, softy.

“ _We_ did that.” Willow responds with a grin. “Thank you.” She gently unfurls her legs, swinging over the side of the bed, steadying herself on her hands. Although she feels better physically, she’s still exhausted by recent events. She’s had a hell of a day, not to mention still being jet-lagged. But, as she can’t forget, she has work to do. Steeling herself, she says, “We’d better the gang over, I need to talk to all of you guys about what’s going on, what Giles and the Coven told me.” 

Buffy stands up with her, still looking at Willow like she’s a glass ornament which might break at any moment. “You sure you’re up to it right now? You could take some more time, if you need?”

Willow shakes her head, ignoring the big part of her that just wants to nod and ask for ten hours sleep. “No, Giles said - well, we all gotta get out in front of this thing, if we can. I’ll explain everything as best I can.” 

Buffy nods, then smiles, “Will, you know this room is yours for as long as you want it, ok?”

Willow thinks if she starts to talk about how much that means to her, she’ll start crying again. So she doesn’t, and just returns Buffy’s smile, giving a single nod, managing, “Thank you.”

Less than half an hour later, Xander arrives at the house. When he sees Willow he pulls her into such a big embrace, Willow worries her lungs might collapse, but she wants him to never let her go. She presses her face into the soft cotton of his dark plaid shirt, hugging him back with as much force as she can muster. She feels so recharged by her two oldest friends; Buffy in a more literal sense, of course, but feeling Xander wrap his arms around her tightly brings tears of happiness to her eyes. _Gods, I’ve missed them both so much._

“No getting away from us now, Will,” Xander jokes, as they eventually part, his eyes sparkling, “I think we’re all agreed that we’re not letting you out of our sight again. England can’t have you back. I’ll fight Giles if I gotta.” 

Dawn enters the living room and throws her arms around Willow’s shoulders, squeezing her almost as tightly as Xander did. Willow strokes Dawn’s long hair down her back. “How you doing, Dawnie? Full mobility back?” 

Dawn releases her and twirls elegantly, to prove her full regained range of movement after being paralysed by Gnarl. “All good! No more pose-ability.” She frowns a little, before sitting on the sofa next to Xander. “Speaking of, where’s Anya? Is she coming?

Buffy passes Willow and Xander a mug of coffee each. “I called her, she’s on her way.” Willow sees her give Xander a pointed look as he opens his mouth, ready to object. “ _Don’t_ , Xand. She really helped when we needed to find Willow. Besides, from what I’ve gathered, we need to bring everyone we care about up to speed. Right?” She looks to Willow.

“Yeah, I think it’s safe to say we’re gonna need all the allies we can get, even the not-so-human ones.” Willow confirms, choosing her words carefully. Willow hasn’t found the right time to talk to Buffy about Spike, but she knows Buffy hasn’t dusted him, which must mean something. 

Xander must have been thinking the same thing, because he asks in a flat voice, without looking up, “What about Spike? He coming over to join the party too? Hope he forgets his blanket…” 

Buffy sets her jaw, “Spike isn’t invited, not to this meeting, not to this _house._ Remember?” She pauses, “But, if it comes down to it, if he’s lucid, then yes, Xander. We might need him.” 

Willow sees Xander scoff, but he keeps his head down. A bright rhythm of knocking sounds at the front door. Buffy gives Xander a last cutting look, then goes to answer it. 

“Hey, Anya.” 

“Sorry for my lateness, but, well - I wasn’t expecting you to call me.” Anya breezes in, giving a little wave to Willow and Dawn, her eyes passing over Xander as he sits up straighter on the couch. “I was enjoying a lie-in this morning, but now _that’s_ out of the window.” At Buffy’s raised eyebrows, she rolls her eyes, “But yes, thank you for including me, I guess. Big threats happening, need to know stuff, yada yada yada.” 

Anya motions for Dawn to scootch up closer to Xander, then deposits herself slightly awkwardly in the too-small space. Looking up at Buffy, she asks, “So, what d’I miss? I’ve been hearing a lot of chatter amongst the demons, everyone’s getting all itchy about something rising in Sunnydale.”

Taking the cue to move the conversation on, Willow takes a chair opposite and sips her coffee, before catching Buffy’s eye. “Well,” she begins, trying to sound more confident than she feels. “Buffy’s been having pretty graphic Slayer dreams about girls being stabbed.” 

Buffy nods from where she’s perched on the coffee table. “Yep, not exactly feeling well-rested these days.” 

Willow continues, “And, the last one you had, you recognised the Bringers as the murderers.” 

Buffy visibly shudders. “Yeah. Weird symbols carved where their eyes should be. Dead giveaway.” 

“Well, once you told that to Giles, he was able to ask Althenea - the Coven’s most powerful seer - to seek out anything she could find in the ether which might give us some more details on what The First Evil is up to.” She pauses, to see all three pairs of eyes in the room fixed on her, giving rapt attention. Willow continues, “Althenea was able to source that The First is in Sunnydale. Or at least, a large part of it is.” 

Buffy raises her eyebrows, incredulous. “Wait, a _part_ of The First? It has parts?” 

Willow tilts her head briefly, “From what we can understand, it can manifest itself as people who have died, like it did with Angel before. That’s where its…well…its consciousness is, or whatever the equivalent of a consciousness is for a primordial force… But its influence can still infect and reach out far away from where it’s manifesting.” 

Xander speaks up, “The Bringers?”

“The Bringers.” Willow confirms. “Harbingers. Agents of The First. At one point, maybe human. Now, definitely not. We still don’t know exactly how all of this works, but the Bringers effectively do the, ah, wet work for the First. They’re intrinsically connected to it in some way.” 

Dawn grimaces, “Wet work? Ew.” 

Buffy shakes her head. “So, what is it doing? The First? Why is it killing these women?” 

Willow takes a deep breath in. “Althenea couldn’t see any motive. So, Giles went to look for answers somewhere else.” She looks over at Buffy, trying to keep her face stoic. “He went to London, to the Watcher’s Council.”

Buffy’s nostrils flare a little as she takes this in. “Okay. And he’s still there?” 

Willow shakes her head, “I’m not sure, he hasn’t checked in for a couple of days. He told me not to worry though, all part of the Council’s hush-hushness.” 

Buffy is visibly bristling with anger at the thought of getting the Watcher’s Council involved, but she pushes ahead, “Did they help him? Do they know what’s going on?”

Willow sets her coffee mug down and meets Buffy’s gaze. “They do. The people who have been murdered…they were all known to the Council. Buffy, they were all girls who might have been called as the next Slayer, when the time came.” 

For a while, nobody says anything. Willow watches Buffy’s eyes go wide, her brow furrow, as she processes. “They were…they could’ve been Slayers?” 

“ _Potential_ Slayers. There are lots of them, apparently. You know the drill, when the Slayer dies, a new Slayer is Called, or activated, and then the line continues through her. Still not really sure on the details of how or why a particular someone is a Potential, any more really than we know why one person on that short list is chosen to be the Slayer. It’s fascinating, rea-”

Xander shakes his head as he cuts her off, “So, wait…The First kills all the would-be Slayers…”

“…then you kill the Slayer, and that’s it. No more vampire Slayers, forever. The forces of evil and darkness permanently get rid of their most powerful opponent.” Willow finishes.

Buffy stands, agitated, “W-what…how long have the Council been sitting on this information? They knew their…Potentials, or whatever, were being bumped off and what, they just decided to keep that news to themselves?” 

Willow completely understands Buffy’s reaction, but it’s hard not to wilt a little as questions are directed at her, even though she knows she’s just the messenger. “Buffy, I don’t know. Giles is probably talking strategy through with them right now. I’ll bet he has the same questions. You know him, he won’t leave until he knows everything that they do.” 

Buffy turns away, beginning to pace steadily across the worn living room rug. “I gotta try calling him again. I want to speak to the Council, I need to know absolutely all that they have on Potentials, Slayers, callings, everything. I got _zero_ chance of protecting them from The First if it knows more than I do about the Slayer line.” 

Dawn interjects, “When you think about it, it’s kinda screwy that you don't _already_ know everything The Council does. Like, all their spooky knowledge is about you and your predecessors anyway. You have just as much right to that information as they do?” 

Buffy rolls her head to the ceiling as she paces, “Yeah, well, Council isn't notorious for actually doing squat to _help_ me unless I threaten them.” She stops, turning back to Willow. “Does the Council even have a plan to protect these girls?” she demands. 

Willow purses her lips. “From the very short call I had with Giles when he first got there, it doesn’t seem so, no. I don’t think they even know where all the Potentials are. He used the words, ‘bloody useless bureaucrats”” 

Buffy looks furious, understandably so. “Of course they don’t have a plan. God forbid they actually get off their asses and do something.” 

Willow, Dawn and Xander all watch Buffy pace for a little longer as she thinks. Soon, she comes to a halt, looking back up at everyone else in the room. Willow’s seen that look before; determined, resolute, strong. “OK, The First is coming after the Slayer line, so we need to make sure we’re able to locate everyone involved in that line, ASAP. Willow, are you able to ask the Coven if they can figure out how to find these Potentials?” 

“They’re already on it. As soon as Giles got the info from London, they started figuring out the magics to locate them. It’s a work in progress, but it’s, ya know, progressing.” 

“Good. Great. Once we know who and where they are, we can figure out how to get them someplace safe.” Buffy pauses, “Which leaves one other person who we really need to bring in on this.”

 _Right. Her._ Willow’s gut twists as she realises who Buffy’s talking about. Trying to remain magnanimous, she meets Buffy’s gaze briefly, and nods curtly. 

“Who?” Xander pipes up from the sofa, looking between Buffy and Willow. 

Dawn looks at him, exasperated. She pats his arm sympathetically. “Faith, Xand. I guess, if all this is really happening, she’s in just as much danger as the Potentials.” 

“In prison…behind large, locked gates and high fences? Surely she’s safer there than we are? _”_ Xander asks. 

Anya lets out a scoff, “Right, Xander, I’m sure Faith’s completely _fine_ in jail, surrounded by all those upstanding members of society. Do you even know what The First does? If it can’t get its Bringers in there, it’ll just manipulate someone else to do the stabbing. That’s kind of its signature move.” She looks back at Buffy. “I doubt it’d struggle to find an inmate willing to hurt Faith on its behalf.” 

Xander sneers, “I know _I_ wouldn’t need much persuading.” 

“Stop it.” 

Willow is surprised by Buffy’s snap at Xander. Yes, he was being crass; the very mention of Faith’s name brings out the worst in him, and Willow knows she’s not innocent of that either. But the look on Buffy’s face makes it clear she’s not going to tolerate Xander’s usual scorn regarding Faith. She stares him down as she continues. 

“Look, Faith is directly in the firing line here. She’s at risk, just like the rest of these people. You hate her, I know, I get it. But Anya’s right, she’ll be a sitting duck in prison. She wouldn’t know what was happening, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.” Buffy shakes her head a little. “Whatever she’s done, whatever you think she’s earned, she does _not_ deserve to be slaughtered helplessly. She’s still a Slayer. She shouldn’t go down like that.” 

Willow steps in, feeling not a little guilty at her own reaction to Faith being mentioned. “Absolutely, Buffy. We get it, Faith needs protection too. _Right_?” With this last word she looks pointedly at Xander and also Dawn, who’s trademark pout has returned. 

Dawn crosses her arms over herself, looking at the floor. “Fine. We help Faith. But I’m not gonna roll out the welcome mat for her.” 

Xander nods, making a gesture of acceptance with his hand.

“Besides,” Buffy continues, “If this thing goes south, if I fail…this town’s going to need an experienced Slayer.” She looks at Willow gravely, “It might all come down to Faith to hold the line.”

——————————————————————

The smell of burning demon flesh fills Buffy’s nostrils, the sound of its terrible death screams ring in her ears. She watches Avilas burn for a second, making certain all the fight is being torched out of it. The idiot boys in red robes responsible for its summoning are now running scared, some of the sobbing like the children they are. Ancient metal coins lie scattered all over the room amongst hastily-dropped candles. _First week on the job going_ super _well…_ Buffy thinks, _the one girl who genuinely comes to ask me for help ends up tied up as a demon sacrifice…_ She turns to free Cassie from her bonds, but sees Spike already crouched next to her, gently cutting her loose. He seems to try and comfort her for a moment, before turning to face Buffy. 

“N…No hurting the girl…” he murmurs, struggling to meet Buffy’s eyes. 

“Hey, thank you. You really came through.” Buffy manages, knowing how difficult it must have been for Spike to come out of the basement. Last time she saw him down there, he was terrified, trying his best to be completely still and silent. He’d seemed to be fighting reluctantly, certainly not revelling in the violence like the man she used to know. But, he’d stopped the demon from crushing the life out of Buffy. She couldn’t deny that Spike was still someone she needed on her side in battle. She takes a step towards Cassie, but this spooks Spike and he sprints, wordless and wide-eyed from the room.

Buffy kneels down to Cassie, who’s rubbing her wrists from where they were tied. Her purple-tipped hair is all tangled up in the gag still hanging loose around her chin. Breathing beginning to slow down, the girl gazes after where Spike ran, then looks at Buffy questioningly, in that uncanny way she has of making you feel like she’s already inside your head. Buffy tries to examine her wounds, but as she does, Cassie catches her eye, and in a soft voice, she says, “She’s already in the fight. But she’s not safe.”

Buffy frowns, before realising who Cassie’s talking about. 

Cassie continues, with a shy, almost apologetic smile on her face, “She’ll be with you soon. One power, divided into two. Two rivers meet together in the same sea, at the end.” 

Buffy’s mouth opens and closes, she feels a blush rise to her cheeks, but she has no idea how to respond to this. Cassie reaches out a hand to stroke Buffy’s cheek, still smiling. “Trust yourself. Trust her.” 

Bewildered, Buffy stares into Cassie’s eyes, trying to take all this in. The moment is shattered, however, by the teenaged ringleader of this attempted murder being bitten horribly by the not-quite-so-dead demon he raised. He yells in pain, before the chargrilled demon explodes into dust. 

“Help me! I - I’m bleeding!” he whines, watching Buffy help Cassie to her feet. 

“Sorry, my office hours are ten ‘til four.” Buffy retorts as she helps Cassie walk away. 

As they make their way down the hall, they accidentally trigger one of the boys’ leftover booby traps. Buffy catches a crossbow bolt mid-air, just inches from Cassie’s face.

“See?” She smiles, snapping the bolt in half with one hand, “You _can_ make a difference.” 

Cassie reaches up to push a strand of hair out of Buffy’s face. “And you will.” she says earnestly. She takes a sharp breath, her eyes suddenly wide, then crumples to the floor. Buffy leans down, desperately trying to revive her, but she can see all too clearly that it’s useless. Tears fall down her face as she calls Cassie’s name over and over. She can’t feel a pulse in her neck. Just like that, she knows Cassie was right; she was right about everything. 

——————————————————————

Dawn is curled up on the couch, crying softly, next to her sister. Buffy strokes her hair slowly, her chin resting on top of Dawn’s head. They’ve been sat like that for quite a while, both girls coming to terms with Cassie’s death. Dawn is trying to pull herself together, she really is. But there’s just too much she’s feeling; guilt, frustration, grief.

Maybe if she’d just paid more attention, not been distracted by that idiot guy, Cassie would never have been kidnapped and put through all of that. Being tied up and offered to a demon probably put a load of stress on her heart. Additionally, Cassie had seen right through Dawn’s efforts to befriend her, maybe she hadn’t even believed there was any real care behind Dawn’s actions. _Guilt._

But then, Dawn remembers the futility of it all. In the end, nothing any of them did stopped Cassie from dying of a heart defect. All the gang’s efforts had been for nothing. _Frustration._

She remembers chatting with Cassie, hanging out in the library, making conversation in the school halls. What started out as a fact-finding mission for Dawn to get to know a possible innocent victim had evolved very naturally into the beginnings of a genuine friendship. Dawn had really enjoyed getting to know Cassie. She was smart, funny, really insightful. And now she is dead, her life, her creativity, all snuffed out. _Grief._

Dawn’s tears continue to slide down her cheeks, she tries to make herself smaller by curling her limbs even further inward. She doesn’t really know how much time has passed, but she doesn’t want to move. Buffy doesn’t seem to want to either; Dawn knows that this has affected her deeply as well. Cassie was her first real case trying to help someone as a guidance counselor as well as a Slayer. It must be really hard for Buffy to accept how this all turned out. Dawn shifts to squeeze her sister’s hand, Buffy squeezes back.

Through her tears, Dawn sees Willow walk purposefully into the living room. Dawn had been dimly aware of Willow talking on the phone just before, but hadn’t really paid any attention. She feels Buffy lift her head.  
  
“Buffy, Hey, I, uh, just got a phone call. I’m gonna have to take off for a while. Maybe a day or two?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing you need to worry about” Willow’s poker face is surprisingly good, although she’s gesticulating too much, a dead giveaway for when she’s withholding information. “I’ll give you the full scoop later. Maybe I’ll even bring back some, uh, some good news?” 

Dawn feels Buffy shrug, “Could use a little of that. OK. I guess now is as good a time as we’re likely to see for a while. You still haven’t heard from Giles?”  
  
Willow shakes her head, “No, sorry.”

Buffy nods. “Just hurry back? I don’t want anyone too far away right now, I need to keep everyone safe.”

The corner of Willow’s mouth curls up a little as she replies, “Will do. That’s kinda the plan, hopefully.” Before Buffy or Dawn can ask any more questions, Willow grabs her keys and jacket, giving them a nod before she heads out the door.

Dawn sits herself up slowly, smoothing out her hair and wiping her face. “Well that was a little mysterious.”

Buffy looks vaguely in the direction of the door after Willow. “It certainly was…” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Aliceinwonderbra for pre-reading and dispensing wisdom!

Driving as fast as the law allows towards L.A, Willow’s stomach is doing backflips at the thought of what lies ahead of her. _No biggie, just perform an incredibly powerful spell to restore Angelus’s soul…again… then persuade a (hopefully) ex-murderous Slayer to hop in the car with someone she hates, and come back to the place which ruined her life…_ She bites her lip nervously.

There was certainly never any love lost between her and Faith, she’s sure of that. But, from what Fred said on the phone, Faith’s risking a hell of a lot to capture Angelus; breaking out of jail knowing it meant a life of solitude when she goes back, then completely jeopardising her own safety in order to drug the vampire. That doesn’t sound like the Faith Willow used to know. _Not that I really knew her, I guess. I didn’t really want to try._ She chews her lip a little harder, recognising a stab of guilt at that thought. 

It all seems like so long ago. So much has changed in the four years which have passed since Faith first turned up in Sunnydale. Willow does feel ashamed at how much she let her own jealousy determine her actions towards Faith. She resented Faith’s charm, her confidence, her obvious sex appeal to Xander, her intrinsic connection to Buffy. Teenage Willow saw all of these character traits as an uncomfortable mirror for everything she felt she didn’t have herself.

Then, once Faith lost all the Scoobies’ support, she ran to the only person who’d offered her friendship: Mayor Wilkins. At the time, Willow’s ego had felt fluffed, like this was confirmation that Faith was a bad apple after all. As an adult, Willow is able to see that actually Faith was a kid with nothing to lose, clinging to a ‘tough girl’ persona she’d probably developed to keep herself alive when nobody else was looking out for her. _Faith made bad choices, yes. She chose the wrong side, she got sucked into supreme badness. But heck, I’ve just spent the last six months in magic-rehab after trying to destroy the world…and killing people._ Willow had wanted to be locked up, to be punished, to be reprimanded for what she’d done. _At least Faith actually handed herself in to do her penance, I had to be dragged away to do mine._ Willow’s mind races. However different they were as teenagers, she couldn’t deny their paths had led both of them to similar places after all.

——————————————————————

_“Asa sa fie, acum!”_ Willow shouts, watching the Orb of Thessulah as it glows. Soon she feels a static-like sensation at the top of her head, signalling Angel’s soul is being channeled both through the orb and Willow herself.

_“Acum!”_ She commands, although she knows with complete certainty that she’s been successful. It feels so different from the first time she performed this spell. The magic which had once seemed so advanced to her now doesn’t even cause her to break a sweat. But then, she’s a hundred times the witch she was back then.

Like clockwork, the soul rushes from the ether to fill the orb, causing it to glow brighter than any man-made light ever could. Then, the orb goes dark, the air stills. The soul has rejoined Angel’s body.

Willow breathes out, opening her eyes. She relaxes her shoulders, looking around. She’d been aware of scuffling just before the spell was completed: the sound of footsteps sprinting through the hotel’s lobby.  
  
Fred and Wesley are still standing next to her, their eyes wide. “Did it work?” Fred whispers, looking around the room as if she’s expecting to see Angel’s soul floating around.

Willow nods, then stretches out her shoulders. “I’d say so. Can’t hear any screaming, probably a good sign…” She peers over towards the entrance to the basement. “What happened before? I heard running?”

Wesley nods, “Connor snuck himself downstairs, not long before Faith -”

“Faith’s awake?” Willow interjects, surprised.

“Uh-huh, she came speeding down the stairs like the devil was in her boots,” Fred’s southern twang comes through a little stronger with this peculiar turn of phrase. “She ran straight into the basement, I heard fighting, then…” she glances to Wesley, concern across her face. “We should go check…” she trails off at the sound of approaching footsteps up the basement stairs. Fear flashes across her face. “What if…what if the spell didn’t work, Willow?”

Willow’s 100% confident in her spell, but for a second, Fred’s panic becomes infectious, and Willow begins to ready herself in case she has to cast protective spells against an unchained, seriously pissed-off Angelus. Instead, she sees a bruised, dishevelled, but familiar brunette walk slowly out of the doorway, steadying herself against the wall as she moves.  
  
“Faith!” Willow calls out, all three of them rushing forward to help. Faith looks a little confused to see Willow as she takes the arm Wesley’s holding out to stop herself from falling over. Behind her, Connor and Angel emerge from the basement, supporting a groggy Gunn in between them.  
  
“Charles! Oh God,” Fred cries out, holding her hands gently to Gunn’s face. “Did Angelus do this before he changed back?”  
  
Gunn lifts his head with some effort, “Nope, this was from boy genius, here.” He glares at Connor, who scowls back.  
  
“I said I was sorry, jeez.” He sneers, shrugging out from under his side of Gunn. The teen shoots a final look of daggers at Willow before turning and running away up the stairs. Faith sinks onto a couch, and Wesley steps forward to take Connor’s place at Gunn’s side.  
  
Angel sighs loudly. “So, he’s been on his best behaviour while I’ve been away, huh.” 

Gunn cackles a little, then moans at the pain in his head.

“Let’s get Charles upstairs, then maybe you can ask your son why the hell he suddenly felt inspired to do what he just did.” Wesley suggests. Before they turn away, Wesley turns back to Willow with a smile. He looks exhausted, all of a sudden, like he’s not slept in days.“Great work, Willow. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come.”

Wesley, Gunn, Angel and Fred tread carefully away up the stairs, leaving Faith and Willow alone in the lobby. Willow feels sorry for Faith; it’s hard not to, looking at the state she’s in. The Slayer looks pretty terrible, and like she’s not altogether with it. Willow watches her take long blinks, her body swaying back and forth slightly as she sits still. She also notices the healing, but very fresh bite on the side of her neck. Willow cautiously takes a seat next to Faith, and for a while, neither of them say anything.

“Did B send you?”

Faith’s croaky voice breaks the silence, surprising Willow. “What?” she blurts out.

Faith sniffs, draws herself up so she’s sitting slightly straighter. Her gaze is still on the floor. “You’re a hell of a witch now, Wes tells me. Powerful. Dangerous. You my escort, Red? Buffy send you to make sure I go back to prison?”

Willow is taken aback by this. “No, not at all. She, uh, she doesn’t even know you’re out, I don’t think.”  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Faith nod slightly. “Of course not, why would she,” she mutters.

Willow continues, “But she’s part of why I’m here, actually.”  
  
Faith frowns, confused. “How’s that?”

Willow shifts her body around so she’s facing Faith more directly. “I — I don’t think it’s entirely a coincidence that you broke out to save Angel now, Faith. ‘Cos, it looks like there’s something way bigger happening.”

Faith scoffs, her head bobbing backwards almost as if she’s drunk. “Sounds like you got the wrong Slayer…”

“Faith, please.” Willow pushes her awkwardness aside as she remembers the gravity of what she has to do here. She _has_ to get Faith on board. “Something’s happening, in Sunnydale but everywhere else too. Something’s attacking the young women who might be called to be the Slayer someday: the Potential Slayers.”

Faith’s dark eyes narrow and peer at Willow curiously. She continues, “We still don’t know enough, not nearly enough. They’re trying to wipe out all Slayers, forever. We — Buffy — she wants to protect you too. You’re just as much at risk. She needed you out of jail. And now…you are.”

Faith looks away, her brow furrowed. After a while, she mumbles, “Angel needs me out, Buffy needs me out…ain’t I the popular chick all of a sudden.” Suddenly she looks back to Willow, shaking her head, “But I gotta go back inside.” her voice becomes quiet. “I’m…I’m not done.”

Willow is taken aback by her reaction. _This really isn’t the Faith I used to know._ Desperate to get through to her, Willow implores, “You’ve already done so much good here, getting Angel back. Without you, they couldn’t have captured him. You did what nobody else could.”

“I’m sure B could’a done it in half the time…” Faith quips.  
  
“No, she couldn’t.” Willow says firmly.

Faith doesn’t argue again, her gaze back on the floor. Looking at Faith, beaten and exhausted, seemingly fit for nothing but crawling back to her self-imposed cage, Willow is struck by a moment of realisation. A moment of recognition. A moment of empathy.

“You wanna go lock yourself up again, I get that. You wanna stay where you’re safe away from the rest of the world, where someone else is always looking over your shoulder, making sure you toe the line.” Willow’s eyes begin to tear up a little as she talks. “‘Cos at least, if you’re there, and you’re lonely…you can’t hurt anyone else. You think it’s all you deserve.” She reaches out and lays a hand gently on Faith’s arm. “But that’s not an option for you, for us, Faith. We don’t get to lock ourselves up and forget. We…we have work to do. And you are needed in Sunnydale. Buffy needs you.”

Faith looks at Willow’s hand on her arm, before reluctantly meeting Willow’s gaze.

“I’m not sure she knows how to tell you that herself, but I know it’s true. You can’t protect yourself or anyone else from what’s coming if you’re behind bars.”

Faith’s jaw clenches, but eventually she gives the slightest of nods. Willow withdraws her arm, feels herself exhale a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding in.

“Guess I can hand myself in to the feds just as easily in Sunnydale if this big threat turns out to be a big bust.” Faith drawls.

“That’s the spirit. Kinda.” Willow smiles, and Faith’s eyes soften a little in return.  
  
“S’good to see you, Willow.” Faith surprises Willow again. “And in case you didn’t notice, you kinda saved the day here yourself. Guess we can count this one a shared win, huh.”

Willow chuckles, “On our redemption score-cards, you mean?”

“Need to pick me up one of those.” Faith nods sagely.

Both women fall back into silence, albeit a more comfortable one. Willow can’t quite believe the conversation has gone this well.  
  
Faith clears her throat, then pushes herself up to standing. She already looks stronger on her feet than before. “I better say bye to the big guy. See if he’s come down yet or if he’s still trippin’ as much as me.”

Willow nods, “Sure. I’ll wait here, then we’d better get going. Do you have any stuff you need to get?”  
  
As Faith walks away, she calls back over “I’m wearin’ it.” 

“Right.” Willow notices Fred walking back downstairs, and an idea starts forming in her head. If Faith is going to be coming to Sunnydale, she’ll need to stay under the radar with law enforcement. “Hey, Fred? Do you mind if I take a look at a couple of books you have there?”  
  
Fred beams, “No, I mean, sure! Go ahead! Whatever you need.”  
  
Willow heads towards the office, grabbing some spell books she recognises. “I have an idea, but I might need your help to get it done quickly…”

——————————————————————

As Willow’s car comes to a stop in front of 1630 Revello Drive, Faith is so nervous, she’s struggling to keep her (hastily consumed) diner pit-stop meal in her stomach. It’s very late, getting on for one AM, and Faith hopes maybe this’ll mean everyone inside will already have gone to bed and she can just head straight to a motel. The lights in the living room window seem to indicate otherwise though.

The journey here had been fine, if quiet. She’d been a little concerned about Willow’s fit state to drive from LA to Sunnydale after performing the re-ensoulment. On the few occasions Faith had glanced across at her from the passenger seat in the darkness of the car, Willow’s eyes had looked heavy, her complexion even paler than usual. Not that Faith is in any position to throw stones; she knows she looks like death herself. She's pretty sure that the Orpheus has mostly left her system, but she suspects the drug has slowed her healing abilities. When she checks her appearance in the visor’s small pull-down mirror, she is taken aback by her pallid skin, the dark bags under her eyes. More striking are the numerous cuts and bruises Angelus had given her, the most obvious and intrusive being the huge bite on her neck. The wound has closed, of course, but Faith is pretty sure it’s going to leave a gnarly scar.

She’s just about gotten her head around the fact that she’s going to see Buffy face-to-face, but as much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she would’ve liked to be looking her best for the occasion. _How fucking pathetic is that, Faith?_ she thinks to herself, resenting all the implications of that vanity. _Chances are she ain’t even gonna let you get a word in before she kicks you out the door, doubt she’ll be stopping to check you out._

Willow had assured her that Buffy wanted Faith back in Sunnydale…but Faith’s far from convinced Buffy will view her presence as anything more than a necessity to be resentful of. From the run-down Willow had given her on the way over, it’s obvious there is some sort of serious attack on the Slayer line in the works. So, Faith reasons, it certainly make sense for Buffy to be gathering everyone involved. But she isn’t expecting any sort of camaraderie to be extended her way. Faith is resigned to doing everything she can to be useful; _but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna just roll over if B decides to dig up old shit._ Faith figures the safest, most useful thing she can do is keep a minimum safe distance. She can be around, she can help, she _wants_ to help. But she can’t do that if Buffy insists on giving her trouble.

Nevertheless, try as she might, Faith can’t ignore the physical whirlwind of emotions coursing through her body when she thinks about seeing Buffy again. She’d had a long time locked up with only her thoughts and memories for company, and she’d come to a couple of realisations about herself. (Some arrived at more easily than others.)

Number 1: Meeting Buffy had been the worst thing that ever happened to her. Faith’s timeline of crap was well and truly underway from childhood, it’s true. But the direct trail of events that led to her being gutted, comatose, then imprisoned can be very easily traced back to Buffy fucking Summers.

Number 2: Meeting Buffy had been the best thing that ever happened to her. This one was more complicated. It had taken a few months of unexpected heart-to-heart conversations with her cellmate Moira to come to terms with it, but Faith now knows the truth of this fact undisputedly. Faith has been in love with Buffy since the first moment she sat in the Bronze with her on the night she came to Sunnydale. At the time, she’d recognised that she was physically attracted to Buffy, sure. _Who wouldn’t be?_ But Faith had written it off as a foolish teenage crush. She’d always considered herself to be straight. Even thought she knew in her heart, her trysts with men had meant nothing to her, it was easier to write this off as another of her failures to open up to people. It was easier to assume that she was fundamentally unable to connect…rather than to consider perhaps she was looking for connection in the wrong places. Moira had encouraged her to talk about this, and she’d suggested that Faith sounded like she’d already found love somewhere else. Faith _had_ been so desperate for Buffy’s love and acceptance, Angel was right about that. Maybe he hadn’t quite understood the _extent_ to which Faith had wanted Buffy’s love…but never mind.

Even if completely in hindsight, it had been useful for Faith to gain some insight into herself and her own identity. She remembers Moira laughing, looking at her with kindly eyes, as Faith lamented that Buffy was probably the straightest woman in the whole world. _“Oh honey, now we know for sure you queer. Falling for a straight girl— that’s the biggest rite of passage there is!”_

Realising she’s about to see the woman in question, Faith gives herself a mental shake out, pushing these thoughts away. Hopefully being in the same room as Buffy will confirm what Faith’s been telling herself for some time now: that she’s over her. _Sure, maybe I_ am _into women…but me and B got way too much water under the bridge. We’ve tried to kill each other one too many times for me to be getting goo-goo-eyes._ However, as she steps into the cool night air and approaches the front door, Faith’s brain, unbidden, starts to play scenes from a couple of the more explicit Buffy-centric fantasies Faith had indulged in to pass her long incarceration.

Willow must have noticed Faith’s tense stance, as she gives her a “here-we-go” look. She opens her mouth, presumably to try and say something reassuring, but seems to wilt a little at Faith’s expression. Instead, Willow just reaches out and knocks three times on the door. Faith notices her own hand tapping nervously against her leg, and tries her best to still herself. She takes a breath, drawing herself up a little taller as she hears movement behind the door. The lock clunks, and the door swings inward.

_Fuck._

Faith’s breath feels stuck in her chest, and from the second she lays eyes on Buffy, she knows she’s screwed. _Over her? Yeah right._ Buffy stands in her hallway, backlit by soft lamplight. Her hair is a little shorter than last time Faith saw her, but other than that she looks like she’s stepped straight out of her dreams. Her eyes are fixed on Faith, her mouth slightly open. They regard each other for a few long seconds, nobody saying anything, until Willow decides to break the silence.  
  
“You, uh, ordered a Slayer?” she jokes lightly, her voice barely registering in Faith’s ears. Her words seem to break Buffy’s trance; she blinks a few times, her eyes ticking across to Willow, then back to Faith.

“Wh…what? How?” Buffy manages. _Hardly a welcome with open arms._ Faith’s heart sinks, feeling immediately uncomfortable and unwelcome, hunching her shoulders a little, shoving her hands in her pockets.

“Well…maybe if you, uh, let us in, we can talk about it?” Willow suggests, smiling expectantly.

“Right…” Buffy moves backwards to allow space for Willow to enter the house.

Faith hesitates, then gestures over her shoulder. “I can just, go grab a motel, if you want…We can do this another time…” Her mind is filled with memories of her actions last time she was in this house. _Why the hell would B invite me in after that?_

Buffy blurts loudly, “No,” then, seemingly pulling herself together, “Please.” she nods her head inside by way of invite. She avoids Faith’s eye-line, so Faith tries to follow suit and look anywhere else.

Once inside, Faith follows Buffy and Willow through to the living room, taking a look around the familiar surroundings. She can’t allow herself to get swept up by the assortment of memories she has in this house. Trying to act more casual than she feels, she comments, “Woah, memory lane. Same old house.”

Buffy looks around, “Yeah, well, every piece of furniture’s been destroyed and replaced since you left, so, actually, new house.” She settles on the arm of the sofa while Faith stands awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Willow walks away into the kitchen, “I’m gonna make some tea, anyone want?” she calls over her shoulder. Faith hears her rifling through the cupboards, then filling the kettle. Left alone with Buffy, Faith feels like a deer caught in headlights. She tries not to squirm, desperately wishing that Buffy would say something.  
  
“She uh…develop a serious tea habit in England…?” Faith asks, instantly regretting what feels like a stupid choice of small talk. 

Buffy raises her eyebrows slightly. “I guess…”

“Kept sayin’ in the car, she couldn’t wait to get back here and make a brew…” _What in the fuck are you talking about??_ her brain screams as she wrings her hands together, craning her neck to look into the kitchen at Willow. _How long does it take to make damn tea?_ When she looks back up at Buffy, she sees her frowning, looking at her.

She stands, then crosses the rug heading directly for Faith. Reflexively, Faith backs up a pace, her muscles coiled for a fight. Reading her response, Buffy stops, holds out an open hand in a gesture of peace. She continues to move closer, but slowly, her hand rising to Faith’s jawline. Faith is fairly sure she feels her heart stop in her chest. This close, she can smell Buffy’s perfume — the fragrance triggering muscle memory, sending jolts of electricity all through Faith’s body. She watches Buffy’s face, but Buffy’s not looking back at her eyes: she’s seen the bite on her neck. Buffy’s fingers gently turn Faith’s face away so she can get a better look at the injury.

“What happened to you?” She asks softly, still studying the bite, before meeting Faith’s gaze again. 

A beat passes. Faith is mesmerised by the delicate strength of Buffy’s hand against her skin. Ignoring her screaming desire to lay her hand on top of Buffy’s, to take a step closer to her and close the space between them, Faith shrugs her head away, rolling her shoulders a little. “I’m ok, B. You shoulda’ seen the other guy.” Her voice cracks a little, but she grins to try and cover her nerves at Buffy being so close to her.

For the tiniest moment, Buffy returns her smile, her face soft.

Keen to move away from that particular conversation, Faith steels herself to say what she’s wanted to since she came into the house. “Buffy…I’m real sorry about your mom.” Her voice is quiet, she hopes Buffy realises that she’s trying to be genuinely respectful.

Buffy’s jaw works a little, but she nods. “Thanks. I -” She takes a breath. “- I, um, I know she still cared about you. Even after, everything….” She trails off, looking down at her hands.

“I can believe that. She was always kinder to me than I deserved…” 

“Oh, absolutely.” Buffy smiles softly again. Faith’s chest feels warm as the atmosphere between them defrosts. 

Willow returns with a steaming mug. “You guys are missing out on the tea…”

“Kinda too late for caffeinating for me.” Buffy returns to her perch.Faith makes an _I’m good_ gesture. Willow shrugs, taking a seat and wrapping her hands around the beverage. Buffy looks questioningly at Faith, then Willow. “So, what happened? Faith…you’re not in prison anymore.”  
  
“You noticed, huh.” Faith tries to sound lighthearted, but she’s also trying not to obsess over whether Buffy sounds particularly happy about the fact she’s out. Buffy doesn’t say anything, waiting for Faith to continue. So, she takes a deep breath, then tries her best to recount what went down in L.A; Wesley coming to ask for her help, the breakout, Angelus, the Beast, Orpheus. Buffy’s eyes are wide through the whole thing, especially the parts about Angelus, and Faith being inside his head.

When Faith’s finished, Buffy nods slowly, as though she’s taking it all in. “So… some mystical someone just _happens_ to stir Angelus up right around the time this attack on the Slayer line is getting started?”  
  
Willow looks at her, confused. “I’m not sure I see any connection here, Buffy. Either way, he’s gone now. Angel has his soul back.”

Buffy shakes her head, her brow furrowed. “No, I get that. But it leads to Faith just _coincidentally_ breaking out of jail exactly when we needed her here?” She spreads her hands, “A little weird, don’t you think?”

Willow nods, “I guess…maybe the Powers That Be wanted to give us a little nudge of good luck. If The First is trying to tip the scales hugely towards darkness and evil, maybe they wanted to redress that balance?”

Faith ponders this, scoffing a little, “Don’t think anyone’s ever called me a ‘nudge of good luck’ before. Maybe it is just that though, dumb luck.”

Willow puts her mug down and stands, “No, I guess Buffy’s got a point. I’ll ask the Coven when I speak to them next. See if they have any ideas. Or maybe I’ll call Fred; the L.A gang are way more up on the PTB than I am.” She yawns. “I’m gonna head up to bed, ok?” she checks with Buffy.  
  
“Thanks, Will, for everything. And thanks for _not_ telling me about Angelus. Really don't think I’d have made that situation any better by ploughing in headfirst.” Buffy grimaces.

Willow smiles, gently laying her hand on Buffy’s arm briefly before heading to the stairs. “No problem. I left to fix your ex-boyfriend, I came back with your, um…” she falters, looking between Faith and Buffy “…uh, Slayer-friend-person…”

“Ok well — I guess I’d better try and find somewhere with a bed for a wanted fugitive,” Faith tries to sound upbeat and ignore the awkwardness Willow just created, but really she has no idea where she’s going to go at this time of night. She stands and moves towards the front door. Buffy does the same.

“Oh yeah, about that…” Willow stops, her hand on the bannister, a sly smile on her face. “You don’t need to worry about the ‘fugitive’ part anymore.”  
  
“Huh?” Faith is confused.  
  
“So, before we left L.A, I worked a little mojo with Fred,” A deep shade of blush rises to Willow’s cheeks at Faith’s suggestive wink. “Not like _that_ , Faith! We just tweaked a couple of invisibility spells to apply to…you know…law enforcement…” 

Buffy raises her eyebrows. “You made Faith invisible to cops?”

“Not _her_ , no. We made her record invisible. So, as far as any police database is concerned, Faith’s isn’t currently on any wanted list.”  
  
“What does that mean?” Faith asks, sceptical.

“It means, cops aren’t looking for Faith Lehane. Your breakout is erased, on their computer systems. As far as they’re concerned, you’re still in prison being a model inmate.”

“What about bounty hunters?”  
  
Willow scoffs. “They all go where the system tells them to go. Just, maybe,” she pauses, clearly trying to be diplomatic, “keep a low profile? Don’t draw any _new_ police attention to yourself? I’ll figure out something more permanent, but this’ll keep you safe for now.”

Faith smiles broadly, impressed, “Nice one, Red. You really are a hell of a witch.” She notices her words make Willow squirm a little, so Faith changes the subject. “So that means I’m in the clear to go rent a room somewhere. Angel wired me some cash before I left L.A. I guess as a kinda ‘thanks for stopping my evil alter-ego’ present… ”

“Stay here, if you like?” Buffy pipes up. Faith tries to hide her surprise. “I-I mean, if you’re, you know, ok with the couch?” Buffy stammers. “The spare room is full of boxes and stuff…”

“B, you don’t have’ta — ” Faith starts, “I mean, I can just go…”

“No, it’s crazy late. I’ll go grab some sheets. Will, can you, um, come help me?” Buffy stands heads upstairs before Faith can argue. Willow casts Faith a brief shrug as she follows her friend.

Slowly walking back into the living room, Faith wonders at the turns her life is taking at the moment. Knowing she doesn’t need to look over her shoulder for cops; knowing she has a safe place to sleep — Buffy’s house, of all places — puts her mind at ease. She begins to feel monumentally tired. While she doesn’t think she’ll ever feel relaxed here, it certainly beats prison. The fact that Buffy hadn’t booted her out, on the contrary, she’d _told_ her to stay…well, that’s just the cherry on top. She allows herself to sit on the couch, crossing her long legs as she reclines her head. _I certainly am having a very unusual week._


End file.
